


Semi-Holy Matrimony

by brynntense



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Fluff, Maybe some serious stuff, im typing all of this on my phone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynntense/pseuds/brynntense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette did not anticipate that she wouldn’t remember most of her best friend’s bachelorette party, that she would wake up next to her childhood crush, with a wedding band that matched the one on his finger perfectly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What happened last night?

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking wrote it. I don’t write a lot of fanfic anymore, primarily because I suck at updating, and writing established characters is not as comfortable to me. So I don’t know how this is going to go. I wrote this entire thing on my phone and am posting using html so sorry for any weird formatting.
> 
> Yes this is also on tumblr under a different name. Still me.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, despite her clumsiness and the occasional air headed moment, considered herself to be a maker of good decisions.

Or at least decent ones.

Fine, she was twenty-three and hadn’t died yet so she called that being on a roll.

And yet, said roll seemed to have come to a screeching halt sometime after her third fancy blue drink of unknown contents at Alya’s bachelorette party because _God_ she felt like death.

She came to awareness slowly, feeling like any coherent thought she may have had was wading through gelatin to try and get to the forefront of her mind, but the realizations were coming nonetheless.

Realization one: she was in a bed. This was fine. The cocktail lounge Alya had chosen for her party was in a hotel and casino, and it wasn’t far-fetched to assume that the bride-to-be or one of her friends had booked a room for her due to Marinette having proved her level of responsibility with alcohol left a bit to be desired.

Realization two: there was someone in bed next to her. She was not as worried about this as she probably should’ve been primarily because realization number three was _oh god I’m going to puke._

Instead of sliding out of bed and walking to the bathroom with any kind of dignity, she tumbled and nearly crawled, because her aching head and her rag doll limbs were telling her to go back to bed.

The drink that had put her in this predicament was a lot blue-er than she originally remembered, if the former contents of her stomach lining the toilet were to be believed. Marinette, however, was not one to ponder vomit for too long and flushed, now challenged with the monumental task of heaving herself off the floor.

She gripped the marble sink like it was a lifesaver in a turbulent ocean, and lifted herself off of the tile all while making the decision to look in the mirror.

Her hair was tousled, not in a sexy way like it had been the night before but in a way that said she had not washed any product out of her hair before collapsing. She was still in the red dress on which she had spilled a drink, her face was flushed, and the bags beneath her eyes would put a raccoon to shame.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, human disaster,” she muttered to herself, bringing up one had to try and comb through the tangled mess that was her hair – and she froze.

That silvery band had not been on her ring finger last night, she was positive.

It looked nice, high quality, so none of the possible scenarios relating to her acquisition of it were good.

Option A: she, in her drunken stupidity, had taken it from someone.

Option B: the hotel had a jewelry store and she was now a wanted thief and Marinette didn’t even want to consider option C, because option C involved acknowledging that the hotel/casino/cocktail lounge/night club also had a wedding chapel.

And there had been someone sleeping in the bed next to her.

“Oh god oh god oh god,” she panted under her breath as she burst out of the bathroom and, in a panic, kicked the human-sized lump on the other side of the Queen-sized bed.

"Ow!”

The voice was male. She had been at a bachelorette party, how the hell did she end up in bed with a guy?!

"Jesus…” The man spoke again, rising at last and removing the comforter from its position over his head and Jesus Christ Adrien Agreste was in the bed with her the whole time.

"Adrien?”

The young man shook his head, trying to wake himself up. He blinked up at her and it was a moment before Marinette saw recognition flicker into his gaze.

"Marinette…” He looked at her like he didn’t believe she was really there, and she didn’t blame him – it had been a few years since they’d had any kind of meaningful interaction. “Did you just kick me?”

"Yes, yes I did – oh god, _shit_ ,” Marinette muttered to herself incoherently while Adrien seemed to be gaining more and more awareness of the situation. The look on his face after a few minutes matched Marinette’s perfectly.

“Why are we – how did – _what_ did–”

“Let me see your hand,” Marinette cut him off brusquely, grabbing her childhood crush’s hand before he could even respond.

On one hand was his silver signet ring he’d worn since they had met. Normal. Fine. Good.

Marinette almost let out a sigh of relief until her eyes flashes to his other hand, where another silver band was visible.

One that matches hers perfectly.

She looked at Adrien, who was looking at his band to hers and back to his and back to hers and then finally, finally, he worked up the nerve to look her in the eye again.

"Well…this is a problem.”

Marinette just shook her head in disbelief, let herself fall onto the bed, and for the first time let some of the words she had been dreading for the past fifteen minutes enter her thoughts.

_My husband is an idiot._

She might need to throw up again. 


	2. A Minor Hiccup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These will be longer and more interesting when I'm not typing on a tiny phone I swear. And I know they don't do weddings in France the same way they do in America shut up

Their certificate of marriage was in a cheap hobby-store frame, but from what Marinette and Adrien knew about marriage certificates (i.e. nothing), it was real. They had signed it. They had drunkenly signed a piece of paper intended to bind them together forever. An ordained minister had let them do it.

This establishment would be getting a _very_ scathing one-star review from one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, that was for sure.

"How can I not even remember any of this?” Marinette had taken to muttering to herself and either Adrien hadn't noticed or was respecting her right to have a meltdown.

Not that he was faring any better.

Despite having ditched modeling as soon as he was old enough that his father couldn't force him to do it anymore, his talent for controlling his facial expressions remained. This was a good thing, he decided.

Because Adrien Agreste was _freaking the fuck out._

He hadn't even wanted to go to a party! He did it because of Best Man obligation and nothing more. He hadn't even _planned_ the thing like he should've -- Kim thought he was too boring to properly plan a bachelor party and had taken over the entire thing, and he had probably made a good call.

So maybe Adrien found parties, even ones with friends, a little stressful. So maybe he'd had a few drinks.

He glanced at the wedding band on his finger.

Fine, a few _too many_.

While Marinette was still stewing in what he was sure was a lifetime’s worth of regret (despite their friendly interactions in lyceé, they grew apart during their university studies and Adrien was still suspicious she didn't like him), he fled into the bathroom upon finding the jacket he was wearing last night.

Making sure his voice was hushed, he peered into one of the jacket’s pockets.

"Plagg!”

His whisper-shout was only met with hysterical cackling.

"Quit it! How could you let me do this?!”

The tiny Kwami finally poked his head out with a yawn.

"Ya seemed happy.”

"I was _wasted_. You couldn't try and be--be like a helpful spirit guide or something?"

"Not my job, not my problem.” 

"No--nonononono, _very_ much your problem, how do I hide being Cat Noir from my _wife?_ ”

For once, Plagg actually looked serious, but not like he agreed with any of his chosen’s concerns.

"You've kept it a secret this long, you're fine. Kid, do you have _any_ idea what a downer you've been since you finally took Ladybug’s ‘no’ for an answer? And you like this girl don't you?”

"Of course I-- not ‘let’s get married’ like, Plagg!”

"So undo it.”

Undo it. There it was. He was panicking for nothing, they could simply get it annulled and be done with it.

Walking out of the bathroom with this in mind, he could've sworn he heard Marinette talking to someone, but as soon as she saw him she was silent.

"Annulment?” He said.

"Annulment.” 

Marinette jumped when her phone buzzed from the bedside table, and she looked at it in panic without actually answering it.

"It's Alya. Oh god, wedding’s today. Wedding. Four hours.”

And just like that, their easy out was postponed.

Nino and Alya’s wedding was in four hours. His best friend’s wedding was in four hours and Adrien was already married and looked like shit. Great.

"Okay, okay, uhhh, we go home, get ready, have fun, then annulment tomorrow. Marinette, you're hyperventilating.”

"I am, I am hyperventilating,” at least she was lucid enough to agree, “because I'm going to my best friend’s dream wedding and I'm _married._ Not even married in a dignified way like saving you from being deported or something -- Adrien, we’re married because we’re _stupid_.”

"Look, no one needs to know, okay? I know you tell Alya everything,” Marinette’s expression tightened and Adrien didn't know why, “but I don't think it'll hurt your friendship if you don't tell her this particular thing.”

Marinette slumped ungracefully onto the bed, her head in her hands. After debating whether or not to go to her, Adrien went with the former and was soon by her side.

"This'll be over by tomorrow, I promise,” he told her. She didn't look at him. “Come on, I'm not the worst person to be married to am I?”

She let out a breath that could have been a half-formed laugh.

"No, no you're -- you're being great, I just...this isn't really part of my life’s vision. And I guess I kind of wish I remembered.”

He did too, honestly. It should come back to them eventually, right?

"We need to get out of this room,” Marinette decided, and just like that she was picking up the things she knew were hers off of the hotel room’s floor. Adrien followed suit -- she was right, this atmosphere was getting more stifling by the moment.

"So, uh...see you at the wedding?” Adrien attempted a normal, civil goodbye but the seemingly eternally flustered Marinette just stumbled out, still looking slightly sick.

The door closed, and Adrien tried to keep the fact that he was holding onto their forgotten marriage certificate rather tightly as discreet as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy I sure hope no other shenanigans pop up to make this more complicated wouldn't that make quite the kerfuffle


	3. Interlude I: Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we enter out first interlude, which will explain what you're dying for -- our what when where why and how. to start us off, we have the why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so listen. I was in a super depressed funk before I started writing again. that's why this is coming so fast. also this is the last chapter I wrote on my phone. I have an actual keyboard. the fun begins.

Everything was hazy, but in a way that felt _right._

 

As soon as she saw him, alone, looking lost in the hotel lobby she felt fifteen again. It felt _so_ good.

 

The only thing missing was that shyness, the awkwardness that had prevented an encounter like this for years, _so_ many years, _too_ many years.

 

Sound came from her mouth and it was meant to be a hello, and it seemed to have come out correctly.

 

 _Mari,_ he had said to her. He had never called her that before. _What are you...here? Why?_

 

He wasn't making any sense and his flushed complexion and dazed expression told Marinette that he was well aware of it.

 

She thought about why she was there. Her best friend was getting married. She was the third in Marinette’s small group of friends to do so. Marinette, however, was busy. She had a not-so-glamorous job at a startup fashion magazine, she was doing commission after commission through her online store, _saving Paris._ She just didn't have _time_ for romance. And it didn't matter. She had friends. She had so many people in her life.

 

But seeing Adrien for the first time in years reminded her that she could be surrounded by people she loved and still be lonely.

 

 _Alya,_ she had finally said to him. He seemed to get it.

 

 _Nino,_ he replied. Right. His bachelor party had the nightclub booked.

 

It came gushing out before she could stop it. How happy she was that her best friends were getting married but how much it hurt at the same time. But she tried as hard as her muddled brain would allow her to keep her focus on them, not her and the handsome man who stood in front of her that she had never truly forgotten about and her last damning sentence came out--

 

 _I'm glad they happened,_ that was innocent enough. _I..wanted us to happen._

 

That was _not_.

 

Adrien gazed down at her with an emotion she couldn't read. She looked away but god she just couldn't stop.

 

 _I loved you. You gave me your umbrella and I loved you. So much. We got older and I loved you._ She paused. _I still do._

 

There was a tear on her cheek, and then a calloused thumb wiping it away.

 

_I still...have the bracelet._

 

His words were met with a mixture of a sniff and a laugh because the young woman had no idea what she was feeling now.

 

 _I loved two people,_ he had told her, _I let one go. I'm...not letting you go. I don't want to..._ can't.

 

She was closer to him now, and she draped her arm around his neck, an action far too intimate for their usual relationship but the way he wrapped his arms around her told her this was good. This was okay.

 

The alcohol was part of it, they weren't naive, but it all felt...okay.

 

She peered up at him finally, the same time he looked down at her, and her lips ghosted against his. Her eyes felt heavy-lidded, but the spark was immediate.

 

_I want this to happen._

 

She honestly didn't remember who said it first. But she knew the desperation voiced before she pulled him down so their lips could fully meet was hers.

  
_Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _stay with me_  
>  this is what I need  
> please  
> -Paramore, _My Heart_
> 
> -
> 
> up next: a wedding


	4. Two Weddings and Maybe a Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things happen in rapid succession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought that last chapter was a bit weak so i packed some good stuff in here for y'all. im blowing kisses to all of you.

Marinette had been friends with Alya for nearly ten years, but -- rattled as she was by recent events -- she didn’t really know what to expect when she entered the church in which the wedding was to be held. 

 

After two hours of making herself look presentable, and definitely  _ not  _ like she had become Mrs. Agreste by complete accident, the Maid of Honor finally tried to make her way to the bride’s room. Halfway there, however, something demanded her attention. Even without looking, Marinette could guess that Alya was stressing out already.

 

“Damn it, Rose, I said  _ no doves _ !” Oh yes, that was Alya.

 

“I know, I know, but you said it  _ after _ I arranged it and--”

 

“You shouldn’t have done it at all! Adrien’s allergic to bird feathers, remember? My fiance’s best man is not going through this whole thing covered in snot.”

 

“Oh, gross, don’t make me think of that!”

 

Marinette was about to make a mental note to never let Rose plan her wedding when she remembered that  _ oh wait, she didn’t have to _ .

 

“If I can interrupt--” apparently Marinette could  _ not  _ interrupt, as she was immediately cut off with squeals of “Mari!” that drowned out anything else she could’ve said.

 

Alya nearly crushed her. Marinette grinned for the first time all day, looking at her best friend in her gown (which Marinette herself designed,  _ of course _ ), her hair was done up neatly, and she was wearing her contacts for once, which made the excited and nervous gleam in her eyes all the more visible. She was a vision in white, and would look  _ perfect  _ if it weren’t for the noticeable tension in her shoulders.

 

“You look so beautiful, Alya,” Marinette gave her a self-initiated hug right after Alya had let go of her.

 

“Thanks -- girl, what happened to you last night? I was worried sick about you!”

 

_ Ah _ , Marinette thought, that’s  _ why they’re so excited to see me.  _

 

They had probably thought she was dead or something. As if she didn’t have enough to feel guilty about.

 

“Nothing--nothing, I just...you know when I went to the bathroom I -- uh…”

 

Oh god, she had nothing. Maybe the partial truth was best in this situation.

 

“I actually ran into Adrien and uh-- he got me a room so I wouldn’t have to drive home.”

 

“Adrien,” Alya mused, and Marinette hated the way she raised an eyebrow and smirked, “and he didn’t partake in his gesture of kindness?”

 

“No!” Marinette said, a little too quickly, “he went home, he was just being nice. You know I’m…”

 

The words “over him” died in her throat, because her hatred of lies extended to herself (which was going to be a  _ major  _ problem going forward, she figured). She wasn’t over Adrien Agreste, she just hadn’t realized it until she saw him last night, until he held her, until she kissed him. She only remembered that much so far, but it was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach. She knew what had happened was a mistake and needed to be fixed as soon as possible, but no part of her being would let her even think that she hated the idea of being his wife.

 

God, she was someone’s  _ wife.  _ That wasn’t something she wanted to spend too much time thinking about.

 

“It’s nothing. I’m here, I’m fine, you look  _ amazing _ , everything is going to be great,” Marinette said, smiling, and she honestly believed it. Then she heard cooing from the main hall of the church, and then--

 

“Oh god, they’re loose! They’re loose and they’re  _ everywhere _ !”

 

Alya looked as close to panicked as Marinette had ever seen her, and she knew Rose’s frantic shout of bird-induced hysteria was tempting the bride-to-be to commit perky, blonde homicide.

 

“I’m gonna google local bird wranglers,” Marinette soothed, backing out of the bride’s room. She had no idea her maid of honor duties included fighting off a flock of fancy pigeons, or that said task would be the  _ second _ weirdest thing to happen to her today.

 

\---

 

“Dude, no offense, but your contemplative staring off into space is kinda harshing my vibe.”

 

Nino’s words shook Adrien from his reverie fairly quickly.

 

“ _ Harshing your vibe?”  _ The blonde repeated incredulously, absently messing with his bow tie on the mirror as she spoke.

 

“It's a thing people say!” Nino crossed his arms defensively, as much as he could without wrinkling his tuxedo.

 

“What people?

 

“...A whole bunch, you wouldn't know ‘em.”

 

Adrien shook his head, and in the mirror he saw the groom’s expression turn more serious, and he let out a sigh because he knew what was coming.

 

“Bro, I know you said you didn't want to talk about... _ whatever  _ happened with Mystery-Girl-Who-Stole-Your-Heart-And-Stomped-On-It, but...dude, you can't go on like this.”

 

“I'm  _ fine, _ ” Adrien winced, his tone had sounded much harsher than the conversation warranted, but he didn't need to be reminded of one of the many,  _ many  _ problems he had on his plate. “Sorry. Pretend I said that in a way that didn’t sound like I was about to murder you.”

 

“I’ll allow it. I guess you had a long night.”

 

Adrien froze instinctively, knowing that there was no possible way for  _ anyone  _ to just guess what had happened the night before, but if a person  _ were  _ to find out, it would be his best friend. He gave Nino a quick glance, scanning his face for any sign that he was about to be...lectured? Congratulated?  _ How do friends commemorate something like this? _

 

It struck him how not ready he was to be married since, in the past twenty-three years of his life, he’d gained only a passing knowledge of people in general.

 

“Uh…what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”

 

“No, no, no pretending with me, Agreste -- you left the party early last night, and Max went to find you and saw you canoodling with one Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

 

“Oh, god, I accepted the ‘harshing’ of vibes but that does  _ not  _ give you license to use words like  _ canoodle _ ,” Adrien played off the nervousness with a roll of his eyes, “especially not in reference to me and a  _ friend _ .”  _ Wife. She’s also your wife. Your friend-wife. Oh god. _

 

“A friend you wandered off with last night.  _ Alone _ ,” Nino persisted. Adrien tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, that he was using this to make the fact that he was getting  _ married  _ a little less nerve-wracking, but the blonde clenched his fists surreptitiously anyway. “Completely shit-faced drunk, I might add.”

 

“I was  _ not _ , and I resent the accusation.”

 

“You couldn’t walk in a straight line.”

 

_ I apparently managed to walk down an aisle just fine,  _ he thought bitterly. Aloud, he went with, “ _ Anyway _ , this is your day, why are we talking about me? Can we stop talking about me? Is that something we can do?”

 

“Yes, yeah, fine,” Nino said. Adrien caught the nervous hitch in his voice.

 

“You’re getting married in,” Adrien looked at the time, “twenty minutes. Doin’ good?”

 

“Great, spectacular,” Nino said, and Adrien was shocked at how much he sounded like he meant it but still looked as though he was about to be hit by an oncoming train.

 

“You love Alya.”

 

“I do.”

 

“She’s awesome.”

 

“She is.”

 

“ _ You  _ asked her.”

 

“I know, I know,” Nino groaned, “and I  _ want  _ to see her and I  _ want  _ to marry her but, dude, as soon as you announce you’re getting married all these people throw words like ‘forever’ and ‘as long as you both shall live’ and other synonyms for... _ forever _ . It’s just...really surreal. Like -- Alya’s grandparents are coming from Martinique and they’ve been married for fifty-something years and...that’s a lot of years to spend with someone.”

 

“But you’re gonna spend them with Alya,” Adrien told him.

 

“Wouldn’t have asked her if I wasn’t, it’s just...you know?” Despite only being given Nino’s vague hand gestures to work with, Adrien felt like he did know. 

 

And he really hoped this pep talk was working for Nino because it made _ him _ want to hurl himself off a cliff.

 

If Nino knew how big of a deal this sort of thing was, Adrien could only imagine what Marinette thought. God, he’d heard that a lot of people had dreams for their future wedding, and he had known Marinette long enough to know that she was probably no exception. 

 

And he’d ruined it. He’d ruined it all for her, just because he was drunk and stupid and hurting and--

 

_ Stop it. _

 

Adrien shook his head to clear it, and checked the time once again.

 

“All right, lover boy, showtime.”

 

\---

 

Of course Alya would put them at the same table at the reception.

 

The wedding had gone off without a hitch -- and without any stray birds, either -- and now it was just time for Nino and Alya’s friends and family to celebrate the new couple and to eat a gigantic cake from the Tom&Sabine Boulangerie-Patisserie.

 

Oh what a tall, sweet reminder of all of the things Marinette hoped she would  _ never  _ have to explain to her parents. She could only imagine the disappointment on their faces, and she almost wished she could picture them angry instead. Angry was more intense, but it passed. Disappointment had a nasty tendency to stick.

 

“So…” Adrien said slowly, drawing it out. Marinette didn’t know if the way he had slowly eaten was a compliment to the catering or if he figured the longer he had his mouth ful the less people would speak to him.

 

“So.” She didn’t know what to say.

 

“You look nice,” Adrien was really, really trying.

 

“I’m...kind of wearing the same dress as three other people.” Marinette realized, belatedly, that she was not.

 

“Which you designed, and they all look...nice.”

 

It was a nice save, really, and Marinette appreciated it. The bridesmaid’s dresses  _ were  _ nice, if she should say so herself (which she did), just subtle, wine-colored, flowy garments that didn’t distract from the bride but weren’t to be overlooked either.

 

“Thanks...I think I lost like a pint of blood sewing them all.”

 

“You sewed them all? By yourself?”

 

“In the span of several months, yes,” Marinette blushed. He must’ve thought she was some maniac workaholic. She was, but he didn’t need to know that. “I--when Alya said she was getting married I kinda sorta...volunteered myself for everything. And then Alya decided to hire Rose to plan the actual event after I set a folding chair on fire--”

 

“A fol--”

 

“Not important, anyways, Rose did the organizational stuff and I...promised I’d make everything pretty.”

 

“And she held you to it?”

 

“I held  _ myself  _ to it,” Marinette corrected him, and he nodded good-naturedly. The image flashed again in her mind, the night before when they met and they had said those quiet things to each other. “I don’t say things if I don’t mean them.”

 

“Good habit to have,” Adrien said absently, his expression far away.

 

“This is a weird question, all things considered, but,” Marinette swirled the champagne in the flute in front of her as she spoke, spilling a bit on the white tablecloth, “are you okay?”

 

“Did I ruin this for you?” His counter-question was almost immediate, like it was all he had been thinking about for some time.

 

“Ruin what?”

 

“I mean you said you had a life vision, and that this wasn’t part of it. I was wondering if you had some...dream first wedding and first husband that I...just came in and wrecked. Like a giant... _ wrecker  _ of  _ things _ .”

 

“Okay, first, let me just take this…” She slid his champagne over to where he couldn’t reach, and the stare he gave her was almost comical, “because you’re not making a whole lot of sense right now. I don’t know exactly what happened last night -- I’m remembering some, kind of, I don’t know -- so we don’t know whose idea it was anyway, maybe I asked you or maybe I said yes but -- look, the point is...no, you haven’t managed to ruin the entire institution of marriage for me.”

 

Adrien looked like he wanted to laugh, and jokingly reached over for the champagne flute Marinette had taken from him, but before they could engage in any fancy, childish keep away, the both froze.

 

The hand Marinette had on the champagne flute: wedding ring.

 

The hand Adrien was reaching for it with: also wedding ring.

 

“We…” He started, realization dawning on him.

 

“...Forgot to take the rings off.” 

 

Marinette remembered then: several pointed looks from Alya all throughout the preparation and the ceremony itself, and she was sure if she looked up she would get another one.

 

“Alya noticed,” Marinette’s words were blended together with the last piece of Adrien’s ‘do you think anyone noticed?’ “She’s just been too busy to say it. But Wedding’s over, she’s not busy, she’s going to corner me if I don’t leave.”

 

“Marinette, she’s gonna corner you anywa--”

 

“ _ Adrien _ ,” when Marinette stood up from the table Adrien had put a hand on her shoulder to try and calm her, to sit her back down, but she turned and suddenly had a death grip on his jacket. “Adrien I can’t do this right now, okay? Not at her wedding. Trust me, she’ll know what’s up and she’ll get it but I can’t...I don’t need to talk about it tonight. Not while it’s still... _ real. _ ”

 

“Marinette…” 

 

“ _ Please. _ ”

 

It seemed as though something struck him, and maybe it was how weak her voice was, but whatever it was seemed to galvanize him well enough.

 

“I’ll take you home,” he said finally.

 

“I can get there--”

 

“It’s late, let me take you home,” he told her again, and she relented. He had a car and she would’ve had to take a cab to her apartment anyway, so it seemed to work out in that respect, at least. 

 

\---

 

“ _ Marinette… _ ”

 

Marinette had never appreciated waking up in the privacy of her own bed in her own apartment more than she did right then, even as the sun poked through her window and the scent of icing made it’s way to her nose (of course she’d snuck extra wedding cake for Tikki, she wasn’t a monster) and the annoying buzzing from her night table just wouldn’t  _ stop. _

 

“Marinette, it’s Alya,” Tikki’s tiny voice finally registered on the groggy young woman’s radar, and it sounded concerned.

 

“I am not available for lectures on responsibility before noon,” she mumbled into her pillow.

 

“It’s the third time she’s called.”

 

“Of course it is, it’s Alya.”

Her brain registered the tiny chime of a text message, but she didn’t lift her head.

 

“What’s it say?”

 

“It’s a link.”

 

“Tap the link.”

 

“Marinette, you have two  _ perfectly  _ good hands to do this yoursel--  _ oh. _ Oh no.”

 

“Did you tap the link, Tikki?” Marinette finally lifted herself up, because when she heard her Kwami say “oh no” she was  _ awake _ .

 

“I tapped the link. You need to see it.”

 

And she did see it. She wished she hadn’t.

 

It was an article on the site of a tabloid that Alya herself had described in passing as “a disgrace to journalism,” but that wasn’t what had Tikki worried or what had Marinette slowly beginning to hyperventilate again.

 

Underneath all the tripe she didn’t dare read was a surprisingly high-resolution photo of her and Adrien at her best friend’s wedding reception, standing up, his hand on her shoulder and hers on his lapel, matching rings glinting clearly in the artificial light.

 

Oh.

 

\---

 

_ Model Son Elopes?! _

 

_ Adrien Agreste, former model and son of fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste was spotted at a friend’s wedding reception getting cozy with his new wife, showing off some classy matching bands. Rumor has it that no one had any idea they were a thing -- but don’t worry celeb fans, we here at CrushTiger like to keep you in the know! _

 

_ Fuck fuck fuck fuck _

 

Adrien had awoken to a frantic Marinette texting him a link to a tabloid and some -part of him had really, sincerely wanted it to just be her sending him a joke. A meme, or something. 

 

But no, it was what the couple would now be calling The Picture for some time. Not that he was looking at the article or picture anymore.

 

He was now staring at the first text message he had ever received from his father.

  
**We need to talk**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	5. Terms and Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel Agreste tries to parent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys here's a chapter that I don't 100% like but I also didn't want y'all to think I was dead.
> 
> Truth is that updates are gonna be a tiny bit slower because I am moving at the end of this month and need to focus on all that business. 
> 
> So even if it's not my best I'm not gonna leave you with that cliffhanger anymore, even though like 10 of you guessed what Gabriel was going to say

Despite swearing he would never be at his father’s beck and call again, it only took him an hour to collect Marinette and make his way back to his childhood home.

Or, maybe more like childhood _house._ Prison also worked.

It occurred to Adrien that the husband-ly thing to do would be to comfort his wife, who was tense because she really had no idea what Gabriel Agreste was capable of, but he found himself petrified because he knew _exactly_ what the man was capable of.

“The man texts me for the first time in my life and he keeps us waiting for twenty minutes,” Adrien finally broke the silence that had settled between him and Marinette since they sat down in his father’s ridiculously large office.

Marinette didn't respond at first, her mouth tightened to a thin line and her leg bouncing anxiously.

“So he didn't say anything about why he needed us here?” She asked after a long pause.

“Nope,” he replied, “but I suspected as much from him.”

“Despite my age,” the couple jumped at the sound of Gabriel’s voice intruding on their conversation, “I still have perfectly working ears.”

He was probably expecting an apology from his son for speaking ill of him. He would not be getting one.

“You both know very well why you're here.”

“I thought you didn't read tabloids. They're garbage, remember? They exaggerate.”

Adrien was nowhere near as afraid of talking back to his father as he was when he was younger, but if he said it didn't make his mouth so dry it was hard to swallow, he would be lying.

“I'm well aware,” Gabriel countered, not missing a beat, “forgive me for being curious when my son’s name is in the news.”

Damn. That was a good excuse.

“I of course thought it wasn't possible, my son is going to school to be an educator after all, he wouldn't be stupid enough to marry a girl while intoxicated, but imagine my surprise when news got back to me that this was exactly what happened.”

“How,” panic panic panic, “how do you even know that's what happened? Marinette and I--”

“Signed a marriage certificate two days ago, stupidly provided to them by a hotel chapel minister who can't tell who's fit to consent to it and who isn't. A minister who happens to be the nephew of one of my colleagues, who is the one I heard this from first.”

“Is this what you called us here to tell us? That you think I and everyone involved is an idiot? We were going to get it annulled today but now our day is otherwise occupied.”

Gabriel leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands before speaking again.

“You will do no such thing.”

Marinette finally spoke then, in unison with her husband.

“What.”

“Right now Paris thinks you two were in a secret relationship and finally got married. You annul it now, you admit that it was a mistake, and it all comes out, and I'm not sure the damage from that is something that can be fixed.”

Adrien would never admit that whatever “damage” that could come out of this was something he hadn't even taken into consideration. He looked at Marinette, who seemed deep in thought and whose expression was impossible to read.

“Look, father, I get that the actions of your dumb, idiot son might hurt your brand a little, but Marinette and I are people who'd just like to forget this happened--”

“You're studying to be a teacher, Adrien, and if I'm not mistaken your… _wife_ is working with a small fashion magazine now and wants to be a designer -- I don't care about the Agreste brand’s trouble, I can take it,” Gabriel sighed and pushed his glasses further up his nose before continuing, “what I meant by damage was...what do you want any future employers to think of when they hear your names -- your experience, your talents, or your 48 hour drunken marriage?”

Adrien hadn't thought of that either, and from the looks of it it had just dawned on Marinette how much trouble they were actually in.

“What do _you_ suggest we do, then?” Marinette asked, eyes on her shoes rather than either men in the room with her. There was a tiny bit of bite in her tone that did not go unnoticed.

“One year.”

Adrien carefully watched his wife’s expression as the two firm words fell upon them, and it looked like she was trying to compose herself before having some sort of anxiety attack. No, this wouldn't do at all.

“Father, I'm _not_ trapping Marinette for an entire year--”

“That's the _bare minimum_ period of time to be married if either of you _ever_ want to be taken seriously as professionals again. One year, then separate and divorce amicably. It's believable -- twenty-three, much too young to get married…”

Adrien didn't see how an accidental marriage would derail his university studies any, but he _was_ aware of how brutal the fashion industry could be, especially when it came to scandals, and he couldn't put any more stress on his friend. No, she was too talented for him to ruin it.

“He's right," Marinette choked on the words, but once they were out there, they were out there, "I'm already having trouble getting my designs in, I can't have people talking about me behind my back.” 

She left out the part about how marrying an Agreste would make it impossible to get into one of the biggest labels in Paris without Gabriel being accused of nepotism, but everyone in the room knew it was a big part of her worries.

Adrien grit his teeth, because admitting his father was right always put him under a great deal of stress.

“One year?” He asked Marinette. She finally met his eyes and smiles nervously.

“One year. The first anniversary is the divorce papers anniversary, I hear.”

Adrien snickered in spite of himself, then looked back up at his wife (for the next _whole year_ , damn).

“So...your parents’ next?”

Whatever color was left in Marinette’s face drained out completely. That was a yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what could possibly go wrong


	6. Deal or No Deal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the tides calm, a proposition is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to put my tumblr URL here. It's melancholicmarionette. 
> 
> I am a giant ball of stress

There had been very few occasions in Marinette’s life where she could describe the energy in her parents’ home as “tense.”

One year the bakery was struggling to break even, one of the earlier years before word about how truly great it was for around. That was tense, a kind of tension born of worry.

There was a time when a very young Marinette heard her parents discussing a baby with what she could only describe as subdued excitement, but after an appointment a few weeks later they stopped mentioning it entirely. That was a tension born of sadness a five-year-old didn't understand until much later, and to this day Marinette didn't know for sure if they knew that _she_ knew. 

This tension between her, her parents, and her surprise husband was the worst, because she knew she had caused it. Tom and Sabine hadn't said much aside from greetings and the hospitable offering of tea before the four of them sat down in the kitchen. Marinette made the mistake of taking a sip of hot oolong just before her mother decided to go right into the root of her worry.

“Are you pregnant?”

Both she and Adrien choked simultaneously, Marinette not enjoying the feeling of hot tea trying to crawl into her sinuses at all.

“What -- no, maman, we--I-- _just no_ ,” Marinette said immediately, while Adrien was still trying to regain his voice. At least the moment of near asphyxiation had made the hard stare Tom Dupain had fixed on him since he'd arrived soften a bit. But only a bit.

The newlyweds finally shared a look and decided, now that they had an idea what the Dupain-Chengs’ worst-case scenario was, maybe the truth would be a little more...palatable.

“It was actually...kind of an accident?”

After speaking, Marinette was unnerved by the stoicism in her parents’ expression, until she realized they were waiting for the two to explain.

So they did, as well as they could. It was hard for Marinette especially, talking about adult matters to people who had raised her, so she left out the parts of desperation and hoped that Adrien would do the same just based on the fact that it would make him look bad too. They included their one-year time limit and the reason for it, but still, their expressions were impossible to read.

Sabine let out a sigh and stood from the table, beckoning her daughter to follow her. Marinette exchanged a look with Adrien and his eyes pleaded for her not to leave him alone with her father, but she didn't really have a choice. She knew Tom wasn't an irrational or violent man, and that Adrien had nothing to worry about, but she didn't have time to tell him this.

When she was alone with her mother, Marinette felt like she was in an interrogation room.

“Maman, I know what you're going to say--”

“Tell me.”

Marinette pauses, taken aback, “what?”

“You say you know what I'm going to say, so tell me. What do you think I'm going to say?”

Marinette hadn't expected this. Her mother’s words were stony, but her tone was soft, sympathetic.

“That...that you're disappointed. That you thought you had raised me better -- which you did -- and that you're ashamed and--”

“Marinette, I could never be ashamed of you. You know that.”

“I might be projecting a little. But you are disappointed. I know.”

“Yes.”

Marinette thought she was prepared for how much it would hurt to hear it, but swallowing it still burned going down.

“I'm sorry, maman. And--and I know you don't like doing it, and I'm too old for it but I need you to lecture me because I'm an idiot and I don't know what to do and I'm just...scared of hurting anyone else with all this so...tell me something. Anything.”

Sabine was quiet, deep in thought, and Marinette could feel her tension building every second that passed without words.

“I don't like a marriage all about business,” Sabine finally said, “but if you think staying married is going to work out better than annulling it...then you should try it.”

“Maman--”

“That's all I can say, Mari,” at least her mother’s tone seemed warmer, “you're a married woman now, like it or not, any decisions need to be made by you two.”

Marinette sighed, she was doing a lot of that lately, “you're right. And yeah I think...I think this is best. All this business stuff.”

“I wanted the day you got married to be one of the best days of your life, Mari, that's what's getting to me.”

It hurt Marinette just as much. She wondered how Adrien was faring with her father.

-

“So you're sure you didn't--”

“Yes, sir, I'm positive we didn't, I mean I would never--”

“Because if I find out you did while she was drunk...I have a very big rolling pin.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Papa are you threatening him with the rolling pin?”

When Marinette reentered the room it was like a tremendous weight was lifted off of Adrien’s shoulders. Tom looked sheepish.

“Just looking out for you, chérie,” he said.

Marinette rolled her eyes before meeting Adrien’s.

“Can we talk?” She said quietly, apprehensively.

“Y-yeah, sure,” Adrien said, nervously taking her hand as she led him toward the living room, leaving her parents behind in the kitchen. They sat down on the couch slowly, and were surrounded by awkward silence before Marinette spoke.

“I've been asking you way too many favors,” she began, “but…”

“What is it?” Adrien prodded when she stopped.

“It's unreasonable. Stupid. Pointless.”

“Marinette,” he said her name firmly, and finally she looked at him.

“My mother always wanted to plan my wedding. Like since she knew I was even a girl.”

They at least shared a small laugh at that.

“I've already asked for way too many things from you, and--and this is the last one. I swear.”

She bit her lip, as though she was internally struggling whether or not to continue.

“A wedding. A real one. That's the last thing I'll ask -- and we don't even have to--”

“Let’s do it,” was what Adrien heard himself say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I write Sabine and Mari well. I don't have a great relationship with my mother, so it's a bit alienating.
> 
> Also I hope you figured out I skipped over a lot of the DJWifi wedding because...I didn't want to write two.
> 
> Coming up: a small interlude, Alya and Nino and...Chloé?


	7. Interlude: Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude number two, where things change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suffer

It had been a week since Ladybug and Cat Noir had fought an Akuma, but they stood atop the Eiffel Tower late one evening anyway. Their cover story, to each other and to themselves, had been patrolling, but then still hadn’t left their meeting place fifteen minutes after arriving.

“Something on your mind, my lady?” Adrien knew that was a stupid question -- of course there was something bothering her, or they would’ve been swinging and leaping over the roofs of paris by now. Ladybug had a loose grip on the railing in front of her, her eyes closed in a somber expression. He’d never seen her like this. This wasn’t his Ladybug. 

“A lot of things,” Ladybug didn’t open her eyes, didn’t turn in his direction at all.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, and she finally looked at him, confused, “that’s a thing they say in America. It means talk to me.”

“I just…” Ladybug was back to looking at the Paris skyline, and he joined her for a second before turning back to her face. “I just realized it. I was too stupid before, too young, I don’t know--”

“Realized what?” Adrien cut her off, because talking seemed to do nothing but make her more upset.

“You’re really in love with me, aren’t you?”

Oh.

Adrien hadn’t had a plan for this. He’d maybe imagined a reveal of their identities, a happily ever after or, at worst, a gentle let down. It sounded almost like this was the beginning of the latter, but that was supposed to hurt him, not her.

He couldn’t do that -- he refused to be the reason she was so sad.

But he admitted it anyway.

“Yes.”

Ladybug’s body tensed for a second, like she’d been stung, but then she relaxed -- not like she had been soothed, but more like she was exhausted.

“You can say it, my lady,” he continued to use the term despite the somber air around them, and despite the fact that he felt like he’d been punched by the universe (he was familiar with the feeling, so he had learned to work through it), “I can...I can handle it.”

Adrien knew he could handle the initial rejection, but not whatever might follow. Not a change in dynamic, not a loss of his best friend, not an everlasting awkwardness between them that made them feel like strangers. But he could handle a no. If he wanted to avoid all the rest, he needed to let her say no.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

It pained him to hear it, but at the same time he couldn’t stifle the glow of affection he had for her. It meant a lot when someone said something like that to him. When he needed help with something and Nino would say he had his back, and when Alya would tease about something but end each jab with “you know I love you.”

All it did this time, however, was remind him of how starved for affection he had been for most of his life. And Ladybug knew it. And she pitied him.

“I’m a big boy, Ladybug, I can deal.” No he couldn’t. He wouldn’t have been able to deal with it at fifteen and suddenly twenty-three didn’t feel all that different.

“You’re my best friend.”

“That’s not going to stop.”

“Cat…”

Green eyes now distracted themselves with the beautiful lights of Paris, just to keep from looking at her, seeing how much what she was holding in was hurting her. They were both hurting, whichever way this turned out, all she had to do was say it, and it would be done, and they could move on.

_I don’t love you that way._

It still went unsaid, but they could both suddenly feel it hanging between them. The air was heavy and his stomach was in knots and he needed to leave. He hated to leave on a silent, melancholy note, but god he needed to leave.

“Tell you what,” he said, his attempt at a confident tone ruined by a crack in his voice, “I’ll start going down and -- and I’ll count to ten. If you...if you return my feelings then you follow me before I get to ten and -- and if you don’t then...then you stay here, or leave. And it’ll be fine. And this didn’t happen.”

“Cat, I--”

“I don’t ever want to stop being your friend, Ladybug. You’re hurting yourself because you think you’re hurting me and this way, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. All I want now is to know where you stand.”

He knew, he was positive he knew already, but she had to be a part of this too.

Ladybug looked at him with watery eyes and he knew they were tears of guilt. She shouldn’t feel guilty. He couldn’t let her feel guilty.

“Just...move or don’t move. Whatever you want. What you want matters to me.”

He turned and began to climb down the tall tower, the place they had met so many times to patrol or just to talk, and he counted, quietly, almost to himself but he was sure she could hear.

_One...two...three…_

He heard footsteps, but they halted abruptly, their owner indecisive.

_Four...five...six...seven..._

His heavy boots clanged on the metal steps. He could only hear the nighttime sounds of Paris now. The first landing was approaching quickly.

Eight...nine…

He ran out of stairs. He was on the first landing, in the dark, everything around him hushing inexplicably, though he supposed it was because he was searching for a specific sound. Breathing. Footsteps. Anything.

“...Ten.”

He said it weakly, and quietly, because there was no one there to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I guess I'd rather hurt_  
>  than feel nothing  
> at all  
>  **Need You Now** \- Lady Antebellum


End file.
